


i’ll be happy when you die

by killingangels



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Buried Alive, Crack, M/M, This Is STUPID, idk luke’s a dumbass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26029309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingangels/pseuds/killingangels
Summary: “Do I bloody feel like a ghost, Luke?” Michael demands, as if the question personally attacked him. “I’m offended. Please don’t bury us alive again.”(malum are buried alive, and luke can’t deal with the supposed death of his two best friends.)
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Calum Hood
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27





	i’ll be happy when you die

**Author's Note:**

> this is so stupid but hi i’m back i had an idea so here’s a dumb version of the fic like i thought where half of 5sos are buried next to each other but they’re immortal so they yell to each other through their coffins and one of them acts dumb and the other is longsuffering and the other two band members go to their graves all the time and are like wait can u hear that? and the other is like no shut the fuck up dumbass they’re dead aren’t you upset??? so here’s a dumb version of that enjoy 
> 
> shoutout to maddie for helping me :)

“Michael,” Calum sighs out after the fifth time Michael punches the upper lid of their coffin. “You’re just going to hurt yourself.” 

It’s a tight squeeze to turn onto his side to inspect Michael’s knuckles- dead people don’t usually toss and turn in the ground, after all- but he manages, his shoulder digging uncomfortably into the wooden lid. He uses his phone torch to see, but all it does is make Michael shudder further back, away from Calum, like the touch is too much despite only being dead for a few days. 

Calum pushes him against the soft padding of the coffin bed before taking Michael’s hand between two of his own. There’s blood crusted along the edge of his knuckle, and a couple of splinters not yet embedded into his skin. 

“You’ll be fine,” Calum tells him, pulling out the splinters. He presses a kiss to the torn skin as Michael gasps, dramatic and exaggerated as usual. “As long as you don’t make punching our ceiling a new habit of yours.” 

Michael huffs a laugh, which Calum counts as a win. They’ve been buried for around two days, he guesses, but Calum only jerked awake a few hours ago, and Michael even less. 

“Don’t call it a ceiling,” Michael mutters finally, but he settles back against the silk pillows of their shared coffin anyway. “I’m glad Ashton had the presence of mind to get us a shared coffin.” 

“Luke put your phone in,” Calum points out. “And your hydroflask. And animal cookies. Don’t be ungrateful.” 

Michael shrugs at that, scrabbling down near Calum’s knee to grab his phone. “He keeps texting me,” he says, offhandedly. “I think he forgot that my number wouldn’t have changed yet. And anyway, he gave you more food than that. The bag’s by your foot.” 

“Sap,” Calum says, but it sounds choked even to his own ears. “He’s not going to believe you if you tell him we’re alive.” 

“Oh, he doesn’t,” Michael says, and pulls his arm away from Calum’s grip. “What?” 

“You’ve been texting Luke?” Calum demands. “How? The WiFi’s shit out here.” 

“Chill out,” Michael tells him, elbowing Calum in the side as he swipes, cursing as he does so. “Fuck, I lost again. Can we open the crackers?” 

——

Luke’s not superstitious. 

It’s always been Ashton’s thing; everything about spirits and souls, the idea that life was a journey and death was just passing on. And Luke nods along with it dutifully, but he’s never understood it. 

Michael and Calum are- were- too full of life to be remembered in memories and photographs. Luke still expects Michael to wander into the kitchen and steal his toast every morning. 

They have an open casket. Luke spends the whole time waiting for Calum to tap him on the shoulder and intone; that’s gay. 

(They were holding hands when they died. Luke thinks it’s fucking stupid of them. Everyone else finds it cute. Cute. As if Calum would let anyone other than Michael call him cute.) 

It was only yesterday when Ashton had to come pick Luke up from ALDI, it it feels like weeks ago. Cheap food is ruined for them both from now on, with the knowledge that their best friends are buried less than a hundred feet away.

Ashton wanted it because it was the closest to where they grew up. Luke wanted it because of the wifi. They needed it to pass on to the afterlife anyway, right? 

Luke’s not sure why Ashton burst out laughing for the first time since Michael and Calum passed on when Luke told him. He’s pretty sure Ashton’s in denial. 

He’s not sure how Ashton managed to cancel Michael’s phone contract either, but whoever has Michael’s number now is shit at Eight Ball Pool. Michael was too, and Luke fails his turn at the thought of Michael elbowing Calum in the afterlife as he shoots the cue too violently. 

Either way, Luke’s tired of sitting around, and he wants to see his best friends. Even if the only thing he can see of them is a headstone. 

He borrows Ashton’s car- his own needs filling up, and Ashton won’t say no if he brings back smoothies- and drives to the graveyard. There’s no one else there, and even though Luke nearly trips over someone’s Pringles can, he feels connected to Michael and Calum, somehow. It’s probably the mess. 

Their shared grave is the newest of them all, still shiny. He gets as close as he dares, almost stepping on the uneven ground and stumbles back, heart thumping. 

Maybe coming here alone wasn’t the best idea. 

Either way, he crouches as close to the ground as he can so that they will be able to hear him. Luke’s not sure where the notion that being quiet in graveyards is respectful. How else are Michael and Calum’s ghosts- souls?- supposed to hear him if he’s not loud enough? Especially if Michael’s wearing his headphones, which he would be. He wore them every time they got on a plane. A deathly existence would be no different. 

“Hello,” Luke says. He feels stupid almost immediately; they’re still his best friends, even if they’re on a plane he can’t catch. “Calum, tell Michael to stop being a sore loser at pool.” 

There’s a muffled thump, which Luke ignores. Disadvantages of burying your friends behind a supermarket. 

“Don’t be a dick,” the Michael part of his brain yells back at him. “I’m dead.” 

“I suppose I can live with you in my head,” Luke tells them. “As long as you don’t haunt me. Ashton said that burying you with all your crap would stop you from haunting me. You can’t be getting bored in the afterlife, you know.” 

“Michael says thanks for the animal crackers,” the Calum part of his brain says. Luke knows he’s making it up, but it makes him feel better. More connected. 

“You’re not making us up,” the Calum part of his brain tells him, dryly. Luke narrows his eyes. 

“That’s the sort of thing I would say if I was making it up,” he tells the headstone. “If you were real, wouldn't you want to be dug up already?” 

“We don’t want to see your ugly mug,” not-Michael tells him, sounding muffled, as though Calum has a hand over his mouth. 

“I’m getting Ashton,” Luke says. He pats the grass, and retracts his hand quickly before Michael can drag him down with them, or something. He wouldn’t put it past him. 

“Fine, leave us like this,” not-Michael tells him, but he fades away as Luke starts the engine. 

—-

“I can’t hear anything,” Ashton says, staring at the headstone as though Michael and Calum are going to burst out, dressed head to toe as granite. 

“Maybe they’re asleep?” Luke tries. “Calum always falls asleep on long journeys.” 

There’s another thump, and Luke curses. Not-Michael speaks a moment later. 

“Ashton!” he says, sounding pleased. “Dig us up, would you?” 

“Ashton?” Luke says. He’s as pale as a sheet. “Did you hear?” 

“The thump?” Ashton asks quietly, voice shaking. Luke shakes his head. 

“Michael,” he says. 

“Michael’s dead, Luke,” Ashton says, but there’s no bite to his words. He just sounds exhausted. “They’re with us in memory, Luke.” 

“Sometimes I still hear their voices,” Luke blurts out, and flinches when Ashton’s hand rests on his shoulder. 

“That’s perfectly normal,” Ashton tells him kindly. “I think.” 

“There’s nothing normal about Luke, don’t pretend,” not-Michael says. Luke frowns. “Oi, Luke, don’t be so glum. Of course you can dig us up.” 

“Could you please,” not-Calum adds. “Michael won’t stop playing the 2001 Animal Crossing.” 

“I’m digging them up,” Luke says.

“No you’re not,” Ashton says. “Let’s go home.” 

—

Luke finds that it’s actually stupidly easy to sneak out of the house. It’s even easier to wander into Aldi to buy a bucket and spade, and the noise is covered up by the generator for Aldi. Grave robbing, Luke muses, is not a career that should be ruled out so quickly. 

The ground, however, is harder to budge. Luke stabs his spade- yellow plastic- into the ground, and nearly cries when it snaps near the handle. 

He tries, he really does, but the voices of Michael and Calum have gone quiet, and his spade has managed to lift only a few clumps of grass, and before long he’s sitting on the bumpy grave, head in his hands. 

“You fucking idiot,” someone says, from behind him, and Luke stumbles to his feet, whirls, and brandishes the broken spade as a weapon. The jagged plastic could probably hurt someone pretty badly if it came down to it. 

Ashton steps forward next to Luke, a shovel almost as tall as himself over his shoulder, and kicks the bucket into the headstone. Maybe Ashton’s the one with a future career in grave robbing. 

“See?” Ashton says, once the coffin is visible. It’s dark wood, and the thought of Michael and Calum beneath the lid- the dented lid- makes his stomach churn. 

He kicks at the lid until it unlatches, and scrambles back at the sight of Michael’s pale skin, Calum’s closed eyes. Michael’s DS is nowhere to be seen. 

Luke feels a bit sick. Ashton was right. Luke’s the one so far in denial that he’s hallucinating his friend’s voices. He shuts his eyes, drops the spade. The skin around his eyes is thin, his mouth is dry. He knows he’s not been sleeping properly. 

“Hey,” Ashton says. “Luke, it’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” Luke snaps back, voice hoarse through the tears. When did he start crying? “Our friends are fucking dead, Ashton.” 

“I know,” Ashton says, and then doesn’t continue. The silence hangs heavy between them, with Luke’s harsh breaths and the whir of the generator behind him. 

“I know it’s scary, Luke,” Ashton starts again. “But Michael and Calum-“ 

“What you saying about me?” Michael asks.   
Michael. 

He lurches over the side of the coffin, legs wobbling, before toppling onto Luke’s lap. “Ow, fuck.” 

“Idiot,” Calum says, mouth half full, but he sounds fond. He lifts a packet of doritos that Luke remembers slipping into Calum’s pocket as a greeting. 

“Ow, you fucking dick, you’ve got hold of my hand still,” Calum says, ignoring Luke and Ashton gaping at them and wiggling his hand out of Michael’s grip. “Michael says he’s sorry for being a shit pool player-“ 

“Shut the fuck up, Calum,” Michael says, leaning back against Luke. “Fuck, you took your time, didn’t you? My legs were starting to cramp.” 

“What's up with you two?” Calum asks, a moment later. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“So you’re not?” Luke tries. 

“Do I bloody feel like a ghost, Luke?” Michael demands, as if the question personally attacked him. “I’m offended. Please don’t bury us alive again.” 

“Just leave us in Michael’s room,” Calum says. “Can we get dinner? I’m starving.”


End file.
